A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  “It was not you or me who abducted Aimee that night. If she had done what you said, she would be here, with us, right now. It was her choice—not mine and not yours.”

  Millie crossed her arms but nodded her head. “You’re right.”

  Jennelle took a step forward to stand next to Millie, looking skeptical. “I am?”

  “Yes. All three of us can be extremely obstinate, and Aimee is especially so when it comes to Reece.”

  “Finally!” Jennelle exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “The voice of reason is released from your lips.”

  “I am also aware that if I had refused to help her, Aimee would have just found another way to capture Reece’s attention.”

  “Of course she would have. All you have to do is explain this to Charles now that he has had time to think and gather his wits, and make him understand . . .”

  “But don’t you see, Jennelle?” Millie asked. “None of that matters. Aimee is still missing and she will eventually need to own responsibility for the pain she caused. However, I too must own what I did to Chase by helping Aimee. And waiting at my father’s for her to be found will not help right my wrongs. By now Chase must have exhausted his resources; otherwise he would have told us something. His ways, however, are not the only means to determine what happened to Aimee.”

  “I truly think she is with Reece, Millie. I might not have seen her being taken, but I was close enough to have heard a scuffle, a muted scream—anything that would signal she was in trouble. I heard nothing.”

  “I was there as well, and everything I saw tells me the same—that Aimee believed she was being taken by Reece’s men. But if that were true, she should have been home by now.”

  Jennelle nodded. “When we heard no news in the first few days, I became worried for the same reason. But unless those were pirates taking her—which I am positive they were not—the captain of any ship would have turned promptly around upon discovering her gender. Which brings me back to my original conclusion: Aimee is with Reece. Just as she managed to get aboard his ship, she found a way to stay. Aimee claimed she only wanted to talk to Reece, but what she really sought was time with him. Time to either convince Reece that he does love her, or for her to come to the conclusion that he is not the man for her. I suspect our clever friend found a way to keep that ship on its course, and it will be two months before we see her again.”

  Millie had not considered that possibility, but it only further supported the necessity of her plan. “Two months is a long time. If only we could be sure she was on the Sea Emerald, then we could all rest peacefully.”

  Jennelle nodded in agreement. “So what is your plan?” Jennelle probed. Before Millie could deny the existence of a plan, she added, “Was it not you who once told me that trying to keep you confined to a life of rules and restrictions was like me never reading another book? Simply impossible. And think again before you refuse my company.”

  Millie stopped walking and turned to look at her friend. “I do have a plan, Jennelle, but for me alone.”

  Jennelle’s blue eyes simmered. “Why? Because I’m too practical and levelheaded? Maybe I am, but you underestimate how much I enjoy our escapades. You and Aimee do not have the monopoly on passion. I’ll have you know that I possess quite a desire for thrilling activities. If I did not, there would have been no amount of cajolery that could have enticed me to join you on so many of your questionable excursions.”

  Millie sighed. “What I am about to do is far from an excursion. I am not going on a jaunt to Vauxhall Gardens. No one is to know what I am doing. There is an element of danger in my plan and I will not put anyone else—especially you—in jeopardy. Can you imagine how my heart would break if you too became injured or disappeared? No. Absolutely not.”

  Jennelle blanched. “Millie, just what are you planning? What are you thinking of doing that is potentially so dangerous? For I throw back your sentiments. Do you not think that I would be just as pained if something happened to you and I had not been there to help or prevent it? No! We must do whatever you are planning together!”

  Jennelle threw her chin up and stepped around Millie as she headed toward one of the benches that used to be covered in moss. Jennelle was furious at the idea of being left behind. More so than Millie had anticipated. In the past, such fury would have been tremendously persuasive and would have convinced Millie to change her mind. But not today. Not with this plan. And yet her friend would never accept such a decision. Unfortunately, Millie needed Jennelle’s support, even if passive and indirect.

  Taking a deep breath, Millie joined Jennelle and sat down beside her on the stone bench. Looking around, she said, “In a few years, I suspect this will become one of the loveliest gardens in Tarrant Crawford.”

  “Distraction will not work, Millie. I am not taking no for an answer, and you will be including me in your plan.”

  “Your father would not like it.”

  “I highly doubt your father knows what you are about to do, and now that there is peace in the house, my father is so engrossed with his research he would not even realize I am gone.”

  Millie elbowed her friend gently in the side. “Your father loves you. He would notice.”

  “I am coming with you.”

  Millie pretended that she was beginning to acquiesce. “I could use your help.”

  Jennelle pulled back to study Millie. “I know you could, but are you really going to accept it?”

  “It might be best if we first discuss my idea.” Millie closed her eyes for a couple of seconds. She hated to misdirect her friend but promised herself she would come clean at the last possible moment. “But before I tell you everything, what does your cook have for us to eat? Dinner is hours away and I am starving.”

  Jennelle stood up to leave but turned around before Millie could rise to her feet. “I will agree to a slight delay and allow you to eat. But then, dear friend, I will know all that we are going to do to find our Aimee.”

  Millie was thinking about Chase again and remembering the last time he had held her in his arms, when she spied out the front salon window a dark hackney coach roll to a stop. She wished she could see him again and tell him that she loved him. She prayed Aimee was well and that by taking this bold step in finding her that maybe Chase would see she did understand what she had done and was willing to take responsibility in helping to correct it.

  Millie looked at the mantel clock. It read five minutes before three. “God bless you, Madame Sasha,” Millie whispered, not only for the seamstress’s generosity but her punctuality. The woman had played many roles in their short acquaintance—seamstress, confidante, counselor, and matchmaker. Now Millie would add friend, for only a friend would answer such an unexpected and unorthodox call for help.

  Taking a deep breath, Millie laid the letter to Jennelle on the table where she could not miss it, grabbed her bag, and snuck out the front door, hoping that she would be down the road before anyone realized she had left.

  By the time she reached the carriage door, the coachman had hopped down from his seat. He was tall and widely built, with thinning gray and black hair slicked to one side. He also had small, dark eyes, which were openly assessing her. Millie got the distinct impression that he knew her, or at least knew of her and was trying to match what he had heard with what he was seeing. “You are Evette’s cousin?” he asked pointedly.

  Millie opened her mouth, staring at the coachman, then slowly closed it, nodding to the obvious lie. The man stretched his neck to glance at the manor behind her. With a huff of disbelief, he turned around and opened the door. Millie was about to hand him her bag when she heard Jennelle behind her, shouting her name.

  “Mildred Aldon Wentworth, this is outrageous!” she bellowed as she marched down the drive, waving Millie’s note in the air. “I won’t let you!”

  Millie swallowed. She looked back at the driver, but he was busy climbing back to his post, pretending he had not heard Jennelle calling out her name. When
he gathered the reins, Millie pleaded, “Please don’t leave.”

  “Door’s open, miss. Can’t likely drive till you close it either from the inside or the out. Don’t care which you choose.”

  “Miss!” Jennelle hissed as she reached the coach.

  Before her friend could say anything more, Millie pulled her aside. “Jennelle, please, please understand. I must do this.”

  Jennelle shook her head. “You are not leaving in a hack! And certainly not alone! I’m beginning to wonder how all my friends could be so ripe for Bedlam and I so unaware.”

  At the accusation, Millie issued her friend a hostile glare. “I’m not alone, Jennelle, nor am I acting irrationally. I am doing what I must to protect not just you but me as well.”

  Jennelle was unconvinced. “He called you miss!” she said through clenched teeth, pointing at the coachman. “Which tells me that even if I have to get every servant out here and my father to sit on you to keep you here, I will do just that. Then I will send for your father and for Charles to sort out this lunacy. Just see if I don’t.”

  “No, you will not,” Millie said simply. “I would never forgive you if you did so and you want me to find Aimee just as much as I do. And if this is how it must be done, then you will let me go.”

  “But go where? With whom?” Jennelle pleaded, her voice cracking as tears began to fall.

  Millie shook her head and gave her friend a quick peck on her wet cheek. “I doubt my father will come here in my absence, but if for some reason he does search for me, please tell him that I am safe.”

  “I will not lie for you!”

  Millie pulled Jennelle into a tight embrace. “But I will be. I promise that I am not doing anything rash or unwise. I’m not alone. I’m with people who can help, and I vow not to take any undue risks. I’m just going to someone who can actually help find Aimee. I promise, once I have any information I will turn it over to Chase. I will not go after her myself.”

  “Then let me go with you.”

  Millie shook her head. “Jennelle, please stay here. This is how you can best help me. Keep my secret as long as you are able, to give me time. Please. I need to do this for Aimee, Chase, and you, but for me as well.”

  Jennelle pulled away, nodding as she acquiesced to what she realized was the inevitable. Tears began to fall in earnest, slipping down her cheeks and onto her fingers, which were still tightly holding on to Millie’s. She could argue with Millie for the next millennium, but it would not change her friend’s mind. And just like Aimee, she would just find another, and more dangerous way to attain her goals.

  “Fine, my fearless friend. We will do this your way, but promise me that if in one week you have not found the proof you are looking for, you will come back and get me. And together we will find a way.”

  “A fair compromise,” Millie said, pretending to agree as she choked back tears of her own. She would most likely need more than a week for her plan to work, but hopefully nothing more to discover exactly which ship held Aimee.

  Breaking away, Millie turned, quickly tossed her bag into the carriage, and climbed inside before she changed her mind. A small hand reached out from the shadows to close the door, and within seconds the hack began to move.

  Millie leaned back and wiped her eyes free of her tears, forcing her mind to what was to come, not what she was leaving behind. “Madame Sasha, thank you so much for coming.”

  “Madame Sasha is in London.”

  Upon hearing the familiar voice, Millie leaned forward. “Evette? Is that you?”

  A small, thin face framed in pale blond hair swept back into a bun moved slightly so that she was in the light. The girl looked young, but she was only a year younger than Millie. Millie did not know her well. She was Madame Sasha’s assistant and had helped to make all of Millie’s gowns last season, but kept to herself, unwilling to join in any conversations. It appeared she had been just as unwilling to make this trip and had done so only because Madame Sasha asked.

  Brown eyes that normally would have looked kind and friendly, held no warmth. Their murky depths were instead cold and distant. “It is me, dear cousin. I’ve come to fetch you so that you may pay one last visit with your sick aunt, my mother, before she passes.”

  Millie sat back and absorbed the story and the crisp manner in which it had been delivered. She had told Chase many times that women had special ways of communicating, and Evette had been quite eloquent in her ability to convey that she was not happy to help and that Millie was to portray her cousin. “And what is my aunt dying of?” Millie inquired, making it clear in return that she would not be fazed by Evette’s stony manner or sharp tongue.

  “Does it matter?”

  Millie took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Not in the least, cousin.”

  Evette pointed to Millie’s travel case, made of stiff leather hinged in the middle. “My cousin doesn’t own a portmanteau. Not a soul who is not from wealth owns one, and yet, Lady Aldon, you expect to become ‘one of us’? I hope you are not serious. My life is not some experiment for you to try to improve. I did not ask for your help. Nor do I want it.”

  Millie’s eyebrows rose to high arches. Madame Sasha had obviously told Evette only what she needed to know to make this journey, leaving it up to Millie to decide just what else to reveal. “I had no intention of helping you, as I did not think you desired or required it. It is I who am in need.”

  Evette’s cold stare softened at the admission and her brown eyes warmed slightly. In doing so, her whole countenance changed. “How could anyone like me help you? You are educated, well-spoken, beautiful, and married to a very wealthy and important man.”

  Millie took her time in replying. “I am all that you said,” she finally admitted, refusing to deny the undeniable. “But I am not wise about the world most people live and survive in. Madame Sasha is, which is why I asked for her help.”

  Evette pressed her lips together at the subtle reminder as to why she was there. “It won’t work, you must know this.”

  “I know nothing of the sort. But I do know that I am determined and no one, even those who are predisposed to think that they know me and all that I am—or am not—will keep me from my purpose.”

  Hearing the well-aimed censure, Evette bit the inside of her lip, but a second later shrugged her shoulders. “We are stopping at an inn tonight. We are to pose as cousins because we are too dissimilar to pass for sisters. What shall be your name?”

  Millie’s head began to spin. “I had not thought we were to stop.” The sooner they arrived in London, the sooner she could begin her task. “Could we not just hire another hack to continue our route?”

  “This is Madame’s own carriage. She rarely uses it, but Bernard, the driver, keeps it in good condition. We can switch out the horses, but we must allow him time to rest before we finish our journey.”

  Millie had not thought of that. She had planned to ride all night, but that was because she owned the carriages and dictated the length of the ride, not the driver.

  “Your name?” Evette reminded her.

  “You know who I am, but does anyone else?”

  “Just Madame Sasha and myself, though Stuart will most likely recognize you,” Evette answered, then quickly added, “However, I doubt Bernard believes you are my cousin. No one in the house will either, after one look at you. But we each owe Madame Sasha a lot. She has our loyalty, and therefore if she says you are my cousin, then that is who you are. But I and the others will need to have a name.”

  Millie’s brows furrowed. The name was unimportant. “Just how many people live with Madame Sasha?”

  A hint of a smile came across Evette’s lips. “Why, nine of us. You will make it ten. Six of them are men. Shall I ask Bernard to turn around now?”

  Millie flashed Evette a confident smile. “You really do think I frighten easily. No need to turn around. And as far as a name, you can call me Ellie. And since I am your cousin, what is your aunt’s last name?”

&nbs
p; Evette bristled at the question, realizing Millie naïvely believed one could just adopt a name and inherit an understanding of another life. “It’s Lefevre. She married a Frenchman and now lives south of Paris,” she answered, hinting that their cover story would be easily discovered if someone did even the simplest of inquiries.

  “Why the sudden hostility, Evette?”

  Evette did not look away, nor did she deny the implication. “Until two days ago, you were just another noble. But then Madame Sasha tells me that you are to come live with us and that I am to help you appear to be part of the working class. I remember your whim at Vauxhall Gardens. One cannot just don a mask and dress to appear like a servant. I would be surprised if you have ever tried to think about life from a point of view like my own.”

  Millie was shocked. She had asked for the truth and received it. Getting angry would be pointless. She could explain that many times she and her friends had disguised themselves as someone else to see if they would be recognized. Most times they were, but each venture had been an eye-opening experience. “Your accusation is mistaken in many ways, but unfortunately it might also be too true. Evette, I do not wish to appear like I belong to the working class; I intend to become part of it. I must, if I am going to work on the docks.”

  It was Evette’s turn to be shocked. “The docks? Is Madame Sasha aware of this?”

  “She is.”

  “Then she is sending you to your doom. ’Twould never work. It would be hard enough pretending to be a servant around nobles, but the docks? Nothing about you would persuade anyone to believe you belonged there. Your dress alone is going to make it difficult convincing the innkeeper we are related. The docks are dangerous and the men who work them even more so.”

  “I have no choice.”

  “Then find one. Go home and hire one!” Evette retorted. Millie’s silence compelled Evette to lean forward, this time not from hostility but from genuine concern for another human being. “A decent woman doesn’t work down there. Not safely, she don’t. I know I wouldn’t. And you being so little, well, there’s no chance you’d survive.”